


Just Like That

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Attempt at Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, First Impressions, Gen, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, POV Alternating, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-12 08:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18442622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: That feeling when your best friend is about to wed the man of his dreams?Well, surely you are excited and happy for him.His best friend, however, is an entirely different story...





	1. He walked into my house (as smug as a cat)

**Author's Note:**

> I went through my prompt folder, found these rather ancient tidbits, and decided to string them into a little silly three-parter. Credit/source for the prompts used at the end of the respective chapter. Also, I read a cute SuperCap story called "Sunflowers" by carpelucem which roughly inspired the background pairing to this stupid story and can be found here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076069
> 
> Title and chapter titles belong to the (hitherto never officially published) song by ABBA from 1982/1983

When Tony picks up his phone that evening, it does not take him long to realize that Steve is completely smashed. This is a first for the usually so put-together blonde from Brooklyn, but apparently, Steve is having what can only be described as a very early pre-wedding-jitters episode.

The day Steve told him he was going to marry, Tony dropped the carburetor he was currently working on. For what it was worth, Steve and he have been buddies for a while now, after Steve finally stopped idolizing his old man and recognized Howard as the cold-hearted bastard he was.

So, Tony has reacted the way any good buddy would. He asked all the right questions - if it was serious, if they really thought things through, etc. In all fairness, Tony Stark -rich and eligible playboy from New York- knows Steve really lucked out when it comes to whom he calls his man (and soon, husband)

Clark Kent, or Clarkie as Tony has come to name him, is a reporter from Metropolis. He also is a mild-mannered boy scout trapped in a chiseled powerlifter's body. No wonder he and Steve have been a match made in heaven from the very first moment they met at a gym in downtown NYC.

That was ten months ago.

Now, Steve is rambling about needing someone to pick him up, and Tony barely manages to elicit the exact location from him and promises to be there in half an hour. He arrives 45 minutes later, thanks to the bitch that is the typical New York city traffic, finds the bar Steve told him he is at, and ambles inside. Steve is not that hard to spot, sitting in a booth close to the restrooms, an empty pitcher of beer in front of him.

An unknown man dressed in an expensive-looking, dark overcoat is standing next to him, one hand on his shoulder in a steadying gesture.

Tony instantly goes into defense mode.

“Who the fuck are you?”  
Morose-business-guy graces him with an underwhelmed look that speaks volumes.  
“Why, who are you?”

His tone indicates audible distaste, as does the once-over he casts Tony's tinkering outfit that includes a ratty baseball hat, faded jeans, and a hooded sweater that has 'Pro Nap – Anti Pants' written across. Tony tries hard not to bristle, playboy ego slightly dented, and pushes out his chin.  
  
“I asked you first.”  
Faced with such blatant fourth-grader logic, Mister tall-and-moody merely deepens his frown and focuses back on Steve.  
“Steven called me to pick him up.”  
  
Stupefaction manifests itself on Tony's face, so he glances past the guy at his blitzed friend. “Steve-O, what's this about?” Steve's blue eyes are slow and glassy when they find Tony's face, and when he speaks, his slurred words make no sense. At some point, he drunk-rambles about how Clark has given him the guy's contact details because they are such good friends and because of something to do with taxes and stuff.

Tony suppresses a sigh. Steve the starving artist is always freaking out about taxes. He and Clark really are too pure for this world. Eventually though, business guy whose name Tony still has not managed to catch removes his hand from Steve's shoulder and stuffs it back into his pocket.

“I don't have time for this, I'm standing in a tow-away zone. Do you want a lift or not?”

Putting two and two together, Tony instantly knows whom the fancy Italian sports car parked outside belongs to. Seeing Steve is looking more and more like he needs a lengthy conversation with the toilet bowl, however, Tony steps up, gives a deliberate shake of the head, and crosses his arms.

“Yeah, no, get back into your Italian stallion Lambo and ride off into the sunset, amigo, I got this.”

The thin line that is the guy's mouth goes even more rigid. He is about to brush past Tony, headed for the exit, but then Steve lunges ahead and manages to catch the end of his coat's sleeve. “Pls don' tell Cl'rk. I l've him, I really, really do.” A sliver of something gentle flickers over the guy's face before it is gone just as quick. “I won't. Get home safe.” Without a second look at Tony and a waft of his overcoat, he is gone.

In the end, Tony gets a parking ticket because it takes Steve around ten minutes to puke his guts out before he can safely haul him back home. Steve, now drunk and embarrassed, promises him the organizational jurisdiction of the wedding. Tony is touched but pretends to be unfazed.

“That's what friends are for, no?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the following Tumblr prompt:  
> “A mutual drunk friend called BOTH of us to pick him up from a party, well this is awkward” AU 
> 
> http://perfectlyrose.tumblr.com/post/119441894314/consider-the-following


	2. He was handsome and smart (walked away with my heart)

“... because that's what friends are for, Bruce, no?”

From the look Clark casts him, Bruce apparently wears his classic 'resting murder face' again. To him, it looks perfectly fine every time he catches his reflection in a mirror, but then again, people are easily offended just because he does not feel the need to emote every five to ten seconds.

“I told you my assistant is going to organize everything. I don't understand why this makes a difference.”

Clark now gives him a look that would even put sad puppies to shame. “Because Steve also asked his best man, and it's supposed to have a personal touch.” Internally, Bruce gives a long, suffering sigh at being unable to refuse his friend a wish. Externally, he only quirks an eyebrow.

“Give me his contact details.”

+

Their first meeting (after a series of rather impersonal emails between secretaries) takes place at a fancy seafood restaurant in midtown.

Coupled with the fact that Bruce is allergic to seafood, he is not looking forward to at least two hours of superfluous talk about decorations, doves, and crudités. When he gives his name at the door and is led to the table, he nearly recoils upon seeing the cocky man from the bar. Much to his triumph, the guy is also visibly stupefied, and so Bruce, resting murder face firmly in place, strides on to take a seat across from him.

“Well, well, well. Fancy that. It's a small world indeed.”

Tony Stark's smirk is as smug as his statement while his eyes are twinkling behind a pair of tinted shades. Tonight, his outfit does not scream desperate hobo but instead consists of an expensive-looking anthracite jacket over a monochrome, electric-blue shirt. Bruce unbuttons his own jacket in a fluent motion and offers a pointed look in return. "I reckon you are also unfamiliar with the planning of an event like the present?"

A jaunty nod.

"Sure am. Going monogamous would really be killing my oyster, so to speak." 

"Pardon?"

"Y'know like precluding your possibilities on the meat-market."

Bruce decides not to peruse the topic further and clears his throat. “Whatever. To ensure a smooth organization, the use of a timetable is-" Here, Stark interrupts him with a held-up palm and picks up the small menu with his other hand. “I don't know about you, but I'm starving. And the sea brass with champagne truffle sauce is calling my name.” Without bothering to wait for consent, he signals the waiter.

Bruce forces his toes to uncurl inside his bespoke Italian shoes and focuses on the menu. He ends up ordering a club soda and the lamb chops with mushrooms and caramelized onions because his last real meal has been almost seven hours ago and he is going to need the energy.

By the time their drinks arrive, Stark is chatting on unbridled, clearly not bothered about the lack of enthusiasm or response he gets. “-and ice sculptures. Big-ass lovey-dovey angels or birds or some shit. Illuminated, too.” Some of Bruce's soda sloshes over the rim from the force he puts his glass on the table with.  
  
“No ice sculptures.”  
Pulling a face, Tony takes a swig of his Pinot Grigio.  
“Gee, aren't you a ray of sunshine.”

+

In the end, they decide to go down a 'divide and conquer' route and outsource tasks too bothersome to deal with to their respective personal assistants. Tony gets to deal with the purchase of formal wear for all groomsmen while Bruce is going to coordinate travel and accommodations.

What Bruce also gets is a mild case of itchy skin and a tingling feel in his mouth because Stark was audacious enough to nab a few mushrooms from his plate with his already used fork. It reinforces his clear and present distaste for the man as he asks Alfred to buy some Benadryl cream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the prompt: “We’re planning a mutual friend’s wedding” AU  
> http://scarlet-wandas.tumblr.com/au-masterpost  
> (This is not the original source, but I believe that blog's been deleted?)
> 
> Oh, and Tony's look is totally ripped off RDJ's styling here:  
> http://www3.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Robert+Downey+Jr+Behind+Scenes+People+Choice+Nno1BIQg-X1l.jpg


	3. Just like that (he found a temporary home in my flat)

The wedding itself is a glorious affair which (thankfully!) does not reflect the dire circumstances behind its organization.

The ceremony brings out tears and sniffles from fellow Metropolis reporter Lois Lane and Clark's mother Martha, whom Bruce had seen to fly over all the way from Kansas. Steve's friends James and Sam (both in favor of Tony being the best choice for best man due to his disgusting wealth) act as proud supporters and keep on providing the ladies with handkerchiefs.

Bruce Wayne stands next to his new-found arch nemesis Tony Stark with a plastered-on, fake simper and pretends to enjoy himself. Like the rest of the groomsmen, he is dressed in a powder blue atrocity with flared pants, a ruffled shirt, and a bowtie that would have made D'Artagnan from the Three Musketeers proud. Or weep, depending on which cinematic version one is looking at.

Despite the many vivid, murderous scenarios running through his head, Bruce manages to keep a straight face during the whole procedure.

Once the official part is over, the rings are exchanged, and all papers are signed with Kent-Rogers, everyone heads over into the location's adjacent ballroom for the upcoming reception and dinner party. Bruce makes use of the overall bustle and escapes to the restrooms to get rid of the noose-like monstrosity around his neck. He gains brief satisfaction from the fact that the polyester fabric reacts very strongly to fire.

After flushing the burnt remains down the drain and giving his 70s pimp-like reflection another scornful grimace in the wall-size mirror, Bruce pockets his lighter, washes and dries his hands, and exits. None other than Tony Stark grabs him by the arm once he enters the ballroom after his return from his pyromaniac stint.

Stark looks like he was born to wear tacky disco suits, which, Bruce muses drily, must be because the flared and pleated pants allow him to hide his plateau shoes. “There you are. C'mon, the photographer is already here. I told him we'd also do a little props-session with speech bubbles to break the ice a little. Ain't that neat? Aren't you excited!?” Bruce manages to extricate his arm and straightens his cufflink. 

“Ecstatic.”

Tony's eyes narrow before they roam from his face down to his neck. “Where's your bowtie by the way?” Bruce follows his gaze. “I must have misplaced it.” His highly lackadaisical remorse is met with a Cheshire Cat-like grin. “Good thing I can help you out.” And that is how Bruce Wayne, respectable billionaire business tycoon from Gotham City, ends up with a popped collar and a cardboard comic bubble reading 'YOLO'.

Since the collar is so comically large, it frames most of his face on all photos.

For that, Bruce is rather grateful.

+

Two hours, many overtly fancy hors d'oeuvres (Stark's choice) and a rather tasteful three-course-meal (Bruce's pick) later, they run into each other again. By now, Stark has shed his baby-blue jacket like the rest of the groomsmen (including Bruce) and is chomping down on an obscenely fat cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth. Once he spots his unwilling event-planning partner, Tony toasts him with a crystal tumbler.

"To a stellar performance."

Bruce, no drink at hand, only nods. Tony shimmies closer to stand next to him. "So. Clarkie told me you're single and ready to mingle." All that moves is Bruce's patented 'eyebrow of judgemental doom'. "Did he now." Stark gives an enthusiastic nod. With the fat Cohiba between his lips, his grin has an even more diabolical touch. "Yup. Also said you've got a sharp tongue and enough emotional baggage to open a factory outlet."

Part of Bruce wants to ream Clark a new one for talking about him to Tony Stark, the other part of him thinks back to the seafood dinner conversation. He then allows himself a sparse, cynical curl of the lips. "What if I were?" Tony's following smile is wide and too pure to be real.

"I'm an emotional stormchaser who enjoys a challenge."

"Your non-monogamous oyster would not be able to handle it."

That is enough to throw the shorter man off-balance for a second. "Huh?" Feeling vindicated, Bruce gives a presumptuous tilt-and-nod of the head. "Figured." His eyes travel over Tony's head across the room where Clark and Steve dance slow and entangled, oblivious to anything around them. Brandishing his glass of amber liquid around, Stark snorts. “Gee, what a lousy double date this is.” At that, a muscle in Bruce's jaw twitches.

“This is a wedding, not a double date.”

Unfazed, Tony takes the cigar from his mouth and downs his liquor in one gulp. “Whatever, we'd just be third and forth wheeling anyhow. Wanna exchange numbers at least? My booty call list is rather bleak these days.” That is when Bruce decides to leave him standing next to the kitschy love swan ice sculpture. He still cannot help but risk a clandestine eyeful of Stark's ample, perky backside once the other man struts off. 

Must be those hooker heels.

+

Steve and Clark's honeymoon takes place in Canada. Upon their return three weeks later, they decide to invite their best men for a relaxed dinner to a) thank them profusely for all their time and money invested to make the wedding a day to remember, and b) to talk over the obvious dissonance between them.

Clark has been in the kitchen for hours, putting the finishing touches to a truffle risotto he has been trying to perfect for months. When the doorbell rings, Steve opens to find both Tony and Bruce standing side by side with matching sunglasses and non-matching facial expressions. Steve looks from Tony's delighted smile to Bruce's ever-present scowl and back. “Wow, I didn't expect you to be on time.” At that, Bruce snorts.

“He always takes forever getting ready.”

The look of sheer puzzlement on Steve's face is lost to Bruce who then pushes a bottle into his hands and squeezes past him in search of Clark.

Expensive wine forgotten, Steve's eyes travel back to his friend.  
  
“How long?”

Tony shrugs with a carefree smile and snatches the shades from his face with a suave motion.  
  
“Shortly after the wedding. Still working out how to date a cyborg. But the sex is all kinds of rad.”

 

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The groomsmen suit in all its glory:  
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d1/67/f7/d167f72ae1577ab1363a9b8daf0be17e.jpg
> 
> Oh, and Tony's heels, well...  
> https://i.imgur.com/aP3Yi7I.jpg
> 
> Nuff said ;D


End file.
